


Burn a candle at Dover to show light in Calais (The Red Planet Remix)

by Daegaer



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Anthropomorphic Personifications, Gen, International Relations, Mars, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-20
Updated: 2012-04-20
Packaged: 2017-11-04 00:47:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/387797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>" . . . for all I know in fifty years we'll be fighting over colonies on Mars.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn a candle at Dover to show light in Calais (The Red Planet Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ZaliaChimera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZaliaChimera/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Burn a candle at Dover to show light in Calais](https://archiveofourown.org/works/288001) by [ZaliaChimera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZaliaChimera/pseuds/ZaliaChimera). 



"Do you think we would die if we took off these _inelegent_ helmets?" France said, looking off at the skyline in a way that was clearly meant to evoke feelings of romantic wistfulness in anyone watching him. It mainly evoked irritation in England, as did most of France's annoying little habits.

"Only one way to find out," England said. "Here, let me help you with the seals -"

France batted his hands away. "You are too kind," he said cheerfully. "But perhaps I will try the local atmosphere when it is a little more like Paris."

"Unbreathable because of pollution?" England said innocently, and grinned at what he could see of France's scowl. "Maybe they're wearing these helmets there too, this season."

"They are not," France said shortly. "I do not know why I ever agreed to this venture, Angleterre. We have squabbled for over a millennium, we shall surely squabble here as well." His gloved hands gripped the platform's railing a little too tightly, as if he really meant what he said. "I read what your papers say, you know. I know the opinion of your people."

England drew a surprised breath. It wasn't often that France admitted he knew English. "Our bosses think it necessary," he said.

"Necessity," France said. "Such a boring, _unromantic_ word. Let us put on armour and settle claims to this new land the old-fashioned way."

"Why not?" England mused. "I knew I was right to pack a longbow." France laughed, as he had hoped. "Don't you find this romantic?" he said. "We're the forces of good, saving Mars for democracy."

"Ah," France said. "Is _that_ what we're doing?" He nodded out at the horizon. "What do you think they're doing out there? The others?"

England shrugged and turned his back on the wide, dusty red plain. "Destroying the planet," he said, "Fuck them, they haven't been our allies for a very long time. We can beat them."

France loosened his death grip on the railing at last. "You have watched entirely too many of America's movies," he said.

"I'm thinking more of mine: sheer bloody-mindedness winning out in the end. And yours: incomprehensible plots that lull the enemy into a coma."

"It is one of my movies that is scheduled for tonight's entertainment," France said, entirely cheerful again.

"Oh, God."

"Do not worry, I have provided the subtitles myself!"

"Oh, _God_."

They were both laughing now, and France leaned closer, putting his hand over England's as lightly as it was possible, with them both suited up. "Can you feel it yet?" he said, "The land?"

"Not yet," England said. "But soon, I think. You?"

"Soon," France said, his tone striking what even England had to concede was an elegant balance between _promise_ and _threat_. "A new land, Angleterre, one not given to decay and failing beneath our feet. I think you are right. I think we will win."

"If that's not a sign of the endtimes I don't know what is," England said. "On that note, let's go in and have a drink."

Together, still not quite in step, they headed down towards the airlock of the Anglo-French base. On the platform, high above the arid red soil, their flags fluttered in the Martian wind, bright touches of colour on their new world.


End file.
